


Red Like Roses

by burlesqueprince



Category: Panic! at the Disco
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Prostitution, Alternate Universe - Serial Killers, M/M, Mental Instability, Miss Jackson AU, Murder, Prostitution, prostitute ryan ross, serial killer brendon urie, stabby stabby hooker murder gays
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-07-27
Updated: 2016-07-27
Packaged: 2018-07-27 02:09:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 731
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7599280
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/burlesqueprince/pseuds/burlesqueprince
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Brendon down spikes into a notorious serial killer and all Ryan wants is to finally feel loved.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Red Like Roses

**Author's Note:**

> i haven't written fanfiction since 2012

Las Vegas. 2:54 a.m. 

Her skin, tanned from the scorching desert sun, hair definitely not naturally blonde, and the black lingerie clinging to her skin with sweat. Good at her job, too. Well - not like it was hard to sell yourself out to any willing guy. Good at her job until he got a hold of her. She had been sprawled out on the bed, watching; waiting in overbearing anticipation - of course, he knew it was all an act, she just wanted her payment. But isn’t that what everyone wants? All living to the next payment, whatever it may be. She didn’t expect this outcome, to say the least. Expected it to be another lousy fuck in a sketchy motel with some horny guy who can only get with women if he pays. She didn’t know why he needed her, though. It didn’t make sense. 

Well, actually, it made sense the second his smug smirk transformed into one of pure malice, dripping with indescribable, heinous intention. He didn’t know what was with himself, but he had such a sudden urge to hurt her. It controlled his body, his mind. Rising from his place in the rickety wooden chair by the tightly closed window, he strode over, clasping one hand around her thin arm, the other reaching into his blazer for the simple switchblade he carried - for self-defense, originally. The fear in her eyes was… exciting, entrancing, even. She didn’t scream, not like she would even try with his hard, burning gaze and the blade slowly finding its way, pressed against her soft neck. The trembling in her bones, the pleading blue eyes, her hands reaching to push back and save herself. It was like a scene out of some horrific wet dream. His smirk grew wider, pressing it further into the side of her neck until the skin gave way, just enough for a faint gathering of blood along the seam. That’s what finally cracked him. With a swift movement of his hand, the knife dove in, dragging across the width of her neck and dropping to the floor with a dull thud. Baby blues widened, hand rising and falling almost instantaneously. The red smile etched into tanned skin spread and covered her chest, flowing down. 

He gathered her rag doll body and placed her back onto the bed as if nothing happened, turning her in a resting position, then returned to pick up the abandoned switchblade. Calmly, he walked into the unhygienic bathroom, running the squeaky faucet and holding his hands and knife under the flow - deep maroons sweeping off and into the stained porcelain, forgotten down the drain. He addressed the now discolored splotches on previously pristine white sleeves with utter distaste, grumbling it off before adjusting his tie. Pulling the blazer down to cover the blood, it looked as it was before. All was normal. Normal, normal, normal. 

The bed found him before he even realized he had sat down, hands reaching up to rub his eyes. The cloudiness in his mind subsided like an October fog - slowly. He just murdered a woman for no reason than to fulfil his own sick urges. What concerned him, was that it didn’t concern him. Other than the slight inconvenience of the blood stains and the chance of being caught that put him on edge, he was mostly unbothered. Part of him wanted it to be a sick dream, to not be real, but she was right there: her body becoming colder and blood dripping down into the sheets, creating damp pools of darkening scarlet, too vivid to come from imagination. The longer he stared at her, eyes following every curve until they inevitably rested on the beautiful curve framing her neck. Beautiful - that was how he would describe it; as beautiful as every other curve on her body. Shit. He needed to get out of there, now. 

Only when he got outside did he notice the erratic twitching of his hands and the pulsing in his ears. Adrenaline. With a shake of his head, he made his way back to the car waiting for him. It wasn’t long before he was driving down a barren, unlit road back into Vegas. The image of her flashed in the darkness as eyes fell closed. 

Tanned skin.   
Blonde hair.  
Cheap lingerie.   
Blue eyes.  
Fear.  
Trembling.  
Blood red.  
Road.  
Red like roses.

**Author's Note:**

> Please tell me what you think! If I should continue, or not.


End file.
